Best Present Ever
by AkaiNagi
Summary: "If music be the food of love, play on …" buffy/giles
1. Tracks 1 thru 5

**Best. Present. Ever.**  
Author: akainagi  
Fandom: BtVS, Buffy/Giles  
Rating: PG  
Status: WIP  
Summary: "If music be the food of love, play on …"

**Track One:**

Buffy had once confided the feeling that her Birthdays were less a pleasant affair and more a source of monumental calamity. Giles suddenly had a new appreciation for the truth of that statement.

"It's an iPod Giles. It's not undead or possessed. Yeah, it's a little cursed maybe, but it _is_ an Apple."

Giles glared at the 140 grams of circuitry that had just infiltrated his library. "Yes, even _I_ am aware of this particular technological advancement in the methodology of torture, thank you Buffy," the Englishman replied dryly.

His slayer was positively bouncing with delight. "And see, I even have a little Hello Kitty speaker."

"How splendid."

"Yup," she chirped, ignoring the sarcasm in his voice. "I spent half of yesterday loading this bad boy. Best birthday present ever. You wouldn't _believe_ how much stuff fits in there."

"All the better to torment me with," he quipped, not entirely joking.

"Thought you were a Watcher, not a Listener."

Giles repressed a snort of laughter. With the technological savvy inherent in teenagers everywhere, Buffy had the contraption up and running. The first sound blared forth. David Bowie began musically expounding his fear of Americans. Giles could relate.

Buffy laughed at his expression, teasing him with the comfortable ease gained by years of practice. "Picked that one just for you." She pointed out.

Giles found that concept irritating and slightly warming at the same time.

**Track Two:**

Thankfully she kept the damnable thing at a low volume most of the time, in deference to his middle-aged, repressed, British sensibilities. He usually managed to tune out the distraction.

Unless, of course, she was using it as background music to hone her combat prowess. Then it was something just shy of ear shattering. At first Giles was tempted to ban the machine from his presence. However, even he was forced to admit that the cadence seemed to enhance this Slayer's natural kinetic gifts. He watched her punctuate drum beats and bass riffs with staccato blows to invisible opponents.

The movement of his eyes betrayed his posture. Giles leaned over his book even as his gaze followed her. She went through the _kata_ with fluid grace. He remembered teaching her the well-worn combination of positions and movements. He had verbosely explained its purpose in practicing the basic forms of any martial art. It had taken her less than two sets to embellish it into something uniquely her own.

The music stopped abruptly, the last note still reverberating in the air. Buffy was halfway through a set when it ended, one leg firmly beneath her, the other extended high in the air. Had the Slayer's opponent not been imaginary, it would have been in serious danger of no longer having a head. The muscles stood out in bas-relief against Buffy's small frame; her minimal clothing leaving little to the imagination. She held her position for a solid five seconds, a small and dangerous smile in her eyes, clearly enjoying the exertion on some primal level. It was a testament to the blood in her veins.

And then it was over. Giles had the sense to look away when she turned to him, not wanting her to see the naked appreciation that was probably visible on his face. He attempted to sanitize this thoughts into something fit for public consumption.

He might be middle-aged, repressed and British, but he wasn't dead.

**Track Three:**

At some point Buffy introduced him to the concept of a 'playlist.'

She enthusiastically explained why the invention of the playlist should be considered on par with that of the wheel. He had listened to with barely-concealed amusement. He supposed that for Buffy it was quite novel for _her_ to actually be explaining something to _him_.

The music hummed fairly unobtrusively in the background, nearly unnoticed. The machine probably didn't dare interrupt its owner's enthusiastic exposition.

"You can make a list of music for anything. Happy music, sad music, angry music. Music to sleep by, music to dance by, music to study by."

"Music to torment your Watcher by?"

Buffy grinned. "That one came factory-installed."

"Ha bloody ha."

She laughed. It was a bright, exotic sound. Exotic, at least, to a man for whom restraint had become both an art form and a punishing way of life.

They settled into their respective chairs, and their respective pursuits. His was essays of Sir Walter Scott. Hers was – he glanced at the textbook – English Literature. He stifled a chuckle at _that_ particular piece of irony - Buffy's ability to butcher the language was prodigious. They continued in companionable silence. And when her hand surreptitiously raised the volume on her latest inane pop-tune, he pretended not to notice.

**Track Four:**

"Giles. It has like 7000 songs on it. I think you can find something you recognize. You're from England, not Mars."

The Watcher glared at the small rectangle of technology in his palm.

"It's not going to bite you, and you don't need to stake it. Just do what I showed you and pick something," Buffy instructed, her voice a mix of amusement and exasperation.

Giles sighed. "Really, Buffy –" he began.

"If you don't pick something," she interrupted, "I'll play Right Said Fred again."

Giles earnestly endeavored to pick something.

The device was fairly easy to operate, his grousing aside. He swirled his thumb around the controls and watched line after line of text fly across the screen. Surprisingly, he quickly found something he indeed recognized. He picked it under penalty of Right Said Fred. The room was filled with the familiar strains of 'Comfortably Numb.'

Buffy nodded approvingly upon hearing the selection. "Good Call."

"Indeed. Although I half expected to hear 'We don't need no education.'"

Buffy chuckled at his stilted use of the improper grammar. "Giles, your rap sheet's longer than mine and _I_ burned down the school gym. Do you really want to start comparing misspent youths?"

"Ah. Point taken," he admitted wryly. "I didn't realize you enjoyed Pink Floyd."

Buffy folded her hands over her books and looked contemplative. "I really only know _The Wall_. Love the movie. Uber-Freaky, but good. I guess I can relate to the whole wall-between-me-and-the-world-thing. Secret identity and all." She looked across the table at her Watcher. "You? Back in your wild 'n rowdy days?"

Giles wondered briefly when he had gotten so comfortable discussing with this girl a period in his life that even today remained a source of shame. She seemed to coax such things out of him effortlessly. He allowed himself a small, nostalgic smile. "I found them to be quite a revelation, actually. I thoroughly wore out my first copy of _Wish you Were Here_."

"Darned phonograph cylinders," Buffy deadpanned.

Giles glared. "Yes, lets _do_ point out my staggeringly advanced age at every opportunity."

Buffy snorted, but looked genuinely apologetic. "Sorry. I can't help it you're so fun to tease."

The Watcher sighed resignedly. "Then I shall have to endeavor to be less fun to tease."

"Nah. Wouldn't be Giles without that." She smiled. "Giles: Smart, tweedy, glasses-polishing, fun to tease."

Perhaps it was Buffy's affectionately warm expression, or perhaps the nature of the conversation, or perhaps the knowledge that his Slayer apparently watched him closely enough to catalogue his personal idiosynchroses. In any event Giles felt a slight flush to his own face. It wasn't until he was replacing his spectacles that he recognized his own actions.

"Giles."

"Um, Yes?"

"Made you polish your glasses."

…

"Brat."

**Track 5**

Giles' capacity to be amazed by these young people was apparently endless.

When the "Slayerettes," as it were, began singing along with Buffy's latest musical offering, Giles opened his mouth to protest. While it was far after regular school hours, this was indeed still a library. His criticism died a quick death when he recognized the song.

He stared. Even years later he would remember this moment with clarity. Xander with his arm slung over Willow's shoulder, his singing horribly off key. Willow barely able to force anything past her giggles. Buffy across the table, her study materials forgotten, grinning like a Cheshire Cat and happily singing along. Everyone slapping the table with their enthusiasm.

It had taken him four decades, one misplaced youth, much work and countless mistakes to bring him to this point in his life. And just when he thought he had adapted to the vibrant multifaceted creatures surrounding him, the picture shifted.

By the time the song ended and the laughter had ebbed, he had managed to recover his aplomb.

Xander was still stifling a few snorts of merriment. "C'mon G-Man! Haven't you ever heard Monty Python before?"

Giles managed a put-upon expression. "Of course I have. Despite what you may have been led to believe, this accent is not just for show. I was just rather surprised _you lot_ had."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Duh, Giles. Very popular with the young-uns these days. Dead parrots-"

"Silly walks," Willow chirped.

"Flying sheep," Xander supplied.

"Holy hand grenades," Buffy added.

"Spam!" they all blurted in unison and erupted into giggles again.

Giles shook his head, unable to keep himself from a chuckle. "Yes, well. I may not agree with calling the father of modern philosophy a 'drunken fart-'"

"I drink therefore I am!" Xander interrupted.

Giles cleared his throat. "Er, yes. Quite. I _do_ hope you all realize that quote is not historically accurate."

"Oh, please," Buffy snorted and rolled her eyes. "We had to sit through Ms. McKenzie's Critical Thinking class with everyone else. And if the guy wasn't a drunk then he was smoking something. Why else would he spend all of his time staring at an apple?" Buffy struck a pose and adopted a pompous air. "How do I know what's real: because God told me. How do I know God exists: because I think he does. Blah blah blah." She looked at her Watcher. "What?"

Giles was the repressed British equivalent of slack-jawed. "I'm merely attempting to come to grips with the fact that I'm sitting here at 8-o-clock at night receiving a lecture on Cartesian Dualism from Buffy Summers. Was there an apocalypse that I failed to notice?"

"Y'know my brain _does_ occasionally actually work on a higher level than 'plunge-and-move-on.'"

Giles ignored the _double entendre_ that just popped into his mind. "I don't doubt it for a moment," he replied honestly.

At least Giles hoped his capacity for amazement was endless, otherwise he would likely be in serious trouble.

+++

TBC!

+++

Track 1: "I'm Afraid of Americans" – David Bowie  
Track 2: "Loaded Gun" – Hedonize  
Track 3: Random pop song  
Track 4: "Comfortably Numb" – Pink Floyd  
Track 5: "Drunken Philosophers' Song" – Monty Python


	2. Tracks 6 thru 10

Best. Present. Ever. (Tracks 6-10)  
Author: akainagi  
Fandom: BtVS, Buffy/Giles  
Rating: PG-13  
Summary: "If music be the food of love, play on …"

**Track Six:**

Rupert Giles' electronic arch-nemesis had a name. A very silly name, actually.

"You named it 'Ringo?'" he asked his Slayer incredulously.

"Yup."

_"Ringo?"_

"Again, yup."

"As in 'Ringo of _The Beatles_?' That Ringo?"

"Kinda. The Beatles are definitely of the cool. But Xander also told me that _Ringo_ means apple." Buffy shrugged. "Seemed appropriate."

This conversation was bordering on the surreal. "Since when does Xander know Japanese?" Giles asked.

Buffy grinned. "Since he got sucked up by a evil demon called Japanamation. He tries to act all artsy, talking about animation style and production values. We all know it's just 'cause he likes looking at anime chicks with big eyes and huge boobs."

Giles choked on his tea.

**Track Seven:**

Perhaps it was the universe's idea of humour. Or perhaps it was karma from his Ripper days coming back in some kind of hellacious installment plan. Why else would he be forced to listen to this song right now, at this moment?

_And I'm sure I can't pretend  
To be a gentlemen..  
But before I begin,  
I just gotta know …_

Did he say song? It was more like pornographic poetry set to electric guitar.

Despite Buffy's considerable innate gifts in the combat arts, there were still occasions when hands-on training was required. Especially when dealing with weapons. Her weapons of choice were usually stakes, boot-heels and the occasional snide one-liner. More often than not, they were enough.

It was a Watcher's job, however, to search out any room for improvement. On the Hellmouth, even minor tactical disadvantages could be disasterous. And despite her strength and speed, Buffy's reach would always be impaired by her small stature.

That was how he ended up violating the six-inch rule. Of course where Buffy was concerned it might as well have been a bloody kilometer, he'd still end up in sorry straits. He demonstrated how to modify her grip on the pole-arm, and instructed her in rather sharp tones to watch her center of gravity. God knew _he_ was watching it.

And some sodding-great berk of an American musician continued to loudly taunt him with images of things he would hardly admit to desiring.

_… What do I have to do to get inside of you …_

Giles barked out something not fit for print, marched over to the offending piece of gadgetry and unplugged it roughly from the portable speaker. Blessed silence.

He turned to find a visibly startled Slayer. Buffy looked at him with such guileless concern, that he immediately felt something of a berk himself.

"Is this the part where you ban my iPod from the library?" She looked positively pouty.

Giles rolled his eyes. "Perish the thought. Though, perhaps next time something a little less …"

Naughty? Inappropriate? Thoroughly inspirational?

"Loud," He finished.

"Oh. 'Kay." Buffy was visibly relieved. She gave him a dazzingly grateful smile and then went back to working on her center of gravity.

Music or no music, he was doomed.

**Track Eight:**

"I'm merely surprised that you deviate from mainstream pop-culture enough to appreciate musical theatre." Giles didn't realize until the words were out how insultingly they could be construed.

Buffy seemed not to notice, even as she defended the day's listening preferences. "Why, because I'm not your stereotypical drama-nerd? I've got one hyphenated word for you, Giles: Ice-capades. Good, campy, all-American entertainment. I can appreciate a good piece of cheeze as well as the next gal." Buffy gave him a rather wolfish grin. "Besides, you remind me of Joanne."

Giles was even more lost, if that were possible. "Joanne?"

"The woman in the song."

"Please tell me you're not referring to the part of the bisexual nymphomaniac." He waited for the inevitable 'eew' and possibly a jibe about his age.

No 'eew' was forthcoming. "Nah, that's Maureen," Buffy supplied. "Other one."

Giles reviewed for a moment. He smiled self-depricatingly to cover the very real twinge of insult. "Ah. The 'Anal-retentive-snob?'"

Buffy's smile was seemingly tailor-made to disrupt his cardiovascular equilibrium. "Loveable-droll-geek," the blonde corrected.

Yet again, he was polishing his glasses before he even realized he was doing it.

**Track Nine:**

Given their location and occupation, Giles found today's music selection slightly inappropriate. He told his Slayer as much.

Buffy disagreed. Shocking.

"It's not prophecy, Giles. It's college rock. C'mon; this song could be the Sunnydale Civic Anthem it's so appropriate."

"I'm still attempting to wrap my head around a pop tune that references Leonid Brezhnev," he replied dryly.

"Ah. Russian. Communist. Big Shot. Was he the one who screwed-up royal over in Afghanastan?"

"One of many, actually." He looked at her calculatingly, "Now who are you and what have you done with Buffy Summers?"

"Har har. _You_ were the slavedriver who spent a week quizzing me on Modern European history."

"I'm merely surprised that you payed attention."

"I always pay attention."

Giles gave her _the look_

"Mostly pay attention. Usually."

Again, _the look_.

"Okay, you win," the Slayer groused.

He couldn't hold back an amused smile. "She finally admits it. Perhaps it really _is_ the End of the World as We Know it."

Buffy smirked. "And , y'know. I feel kinda fine."

**Track Ten:**

Now it was Buffy's turn to eat a helping of crow.

"Fiona Apple?"

Giles faced his slayer's shocked regard with what he hoped was composure. "Quite," he answered.

_"Fiona Apple?"_

Giles sighed, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "Her work is a fine example of early-jazz influenced modern composition with complex piano arrangement . All said, it's not bad for an American."

When Buffy didn't answer, the Watcher did indeed roll his eyes. "Buffy, despite what you may think, you don't know _everything_about me."

Buffy's cheeks tinged slightly pink. "I guess not," she admitted. The Slayer then adopted a small, cryptic smile. "Just never pegged you for the type who listened to bitchy, post-break-up, fuck-my-life piano-rock. What's next? Alanis Morissette?"

"… Who?"

[TBC]

Track 6: Listener's Choice  
Track 7: "Inside of You" - Hoobastank  
Track 8: Take Me or Leave Me" – Original Broadway Cast Recording of _Rent_  
Track 9: "It's the End of the World as We Know it" – R.E.M.  
Track 10: "The Way Thing Are" – Fiona Apple


End file.
